


Breathing Space

by nu_breed



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Episode: s03e08 A Very Supernatural Christmas, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-01-06
Updated: 2008-01-06
Packaged: 2017-12-08 10:25:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,443
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/760310
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nu_breed/pseuds/nu_breed
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p><a href="http://veronamay.livejournal.com/profile"><img class="i-ljuser-userhead"/></a><a class="i-ljuser-username" href="http://veronamay.livejournal.com/"><b>veronamay</b></a> asked for a porny, schmoopy coda to 3x08, which was the first 200ish words of this.  <a href="http://rejeneration.livejournal.com/profile"><img class="i-ljuser-userhead"/></a><a class="i-ljuser-username" href="http://rejeneration.livejournal.com/"><b>rejeneration</b></a> asked for more.  Hope this satisfies both requests, ladies.  Thanks to <a href="http://missyjack.livejournal.com/profile"><img class="i-ljuser-userhead"/></a><a class="i-ljuser-username" href="http://missyjack.livejournal.com/"></a><b>missyjack</b> for beta duty.</p>
    </blockquote>





	Breathing Space

**Author's Note:**

> [](http://veronamay.livejournal.com/profile)[**veronamay**](http://veronamay.livejournal.com/) asked for a porny, schmoopy coda to 3x08, which was the first 200ish words of this. [](http://rejeneration.livejournal.com/profile)[**rejeneration**](http://rejeneration.livejournal.com/) asked for more. Hope this satisfies both requests, ladies. Thanks to [](http://missyjack.livejournal.com/profile)[](http://missyjack.livejournal.com/)**missyjack** for beta duty.

It's four am when Dean wakes up, neck twisted and his t-shirt drool-damp. Sam's curled up around him, head in his lap and every so often he shifts, and Dean can feel his face just there. It's reminiscent of when they were kids, all the times they'd fall asleep watching tired-old reruns and waking up the next morning, achy and still alone.

But this is so different. Sam's face in Dean's crotch and his warm breath that huffs out on every exhale, and his stupid hair falling into his stupid eyes shouldn't be making Dean hard like it is, shouldn't be making him so full of stupid fucking need and want that he has to reach out and touch.

Sam looks so peaceful when he's asleep, always has. Sleeping fucking Beauty and Dean can't help it, can't stop his thumb sliding over that bottom lip, soft and pliant and so much plumper than it should be. Dean wonders what it would feel like, what Sam would do if Dean just sucked it into his mouth and scraped it with his teeth as he pulled away.

Sam's eyes flick open and Dean means to pull back, to take his hand away from Sam's face, but he... doesn't. Instead he sits there, glued to the spot as Sam's pulls him forward, and tries to lick every inch of eggnog out of his mouth.

Dean'd be lying if he tried to tell himself he's never thought about this, about kissing Sam. But when he imagined it, when he shut his eyes and touched his own mouth and imagined just what it would feel like, it wasn't even close to this. Sam's on him now, on Dean's lap facing him and he's making these gorgeous, breathy little noises that sound like desperation.

Sam's hips are moving too, something Dean thinks he isn't even aware of and every time Sam moves them forward and back, Dean can feel the friction against his cock. His jeans feel about two sizes too small for him, and when he wrenches Sam away from his mouth, it's all he can do not to throw Sam down on the floor, unzip his jeans and just fucking rub against smooth, perfect skin.

"What's wrong?" Sam breathes against his cheek, warm and steamy and too much. Dean grabs Sam's face and holds him back, holds him there, his thumbs brushing over cheekbones. Sam's mouth is open, he's panting and Dean really wants to just shove his tongue back in there, just eat at his mouth.

"Nothing, just." Dean closes his eyes and swallows hard. "What are we doing? We just gonna rub up against each other like a couple of horny teenagers, Sam? That what you want? Bit o' dryhumping to go with your Christmas presents?"

"For starters." Sam says, low and growly and Dean feels like a bolt just went through him, sparking electricity in his belly and his cock. Sam's moving again, writhing on his lap and Dean feels like he's going to blow any second. "What do _you_ want, Dean? Tell me."

_You. Just you. Just like this._

Dean thinks about saying it aloud. Thinks about saying a lot of things, but instead he just grabs one of Sam's wrists, his thumb rubbing at the pulsepoint. His other hand is on the back of Sam's head and he pulls him forward, so Sam's neck is within reach. He scrapes his teeth down, slow and steady, and Sam hisses.

Dean loves that. Loves the reaction he's getting from Sam and he wants more. Wants it all. Wants to go to his grave knowing what every inch of Sam tastes like, feels like, and it doesn't matter whether Dean dies in four months, or forty, or four-hundred, he's going to make it happen, starting right here and now.

"Wanna watch you," he whispers against Sam's neck, "watch you fall apart for me."

Sam laughs. "Don't think that'll be a problem, man."

"Well, all right then. Good." Dean grins, and he thumbs open the button on Sam's jeans, pulls the zipper down and gets his hand inside.

Dean thinks for a second this should be harder. He should probably be feeling something other than _wanthimnakedrightfuckingnow_ , should feel something like guilt, or disgust. But he doesn't, and this feels like the easiest thing in the world, touching Sam like this.

Sam's cock is hard and hot and Dean can't do much with the tight fit he has, but Sam's helping, thrusting his hips forward and back and driving his cock in and out of Dean's fist.

"God," he breathes, "not going to. Not gonna last long. You're. Too fucking good at this."

Dean grins. "Know what you like, don't I?" He remembers doing this, just this, back when Sam was a teenager. All those nights Sam couldn't get to sleep, he was so hard. It was nothing, the kind of thing he'd do to himself. Here though, now? It 's a whole different ballgame.

It's not just a hand job, it's more like they're fucking: Sam's driving his cock into Dean's fist, sucking on his tongue like he's starving, and the scary part is, it doesn't feel wrong. It should. Should feel really, horribly wrong, but all it feels like is that Dean has four months left, and there's nothing to lose with this. Nothing at all.

Sam gets one more thrust in and he's coming, wet and hot into Dean's hand and his own boxers. He's moaning now, making more noise than any chick Dean's ever had in his bed. Sam's groans are desperate, intoxicating, and he's so hot like this, hotter than the hell Dean's soul is bound for. Doesn't matter where he's heading, though, Dean's going to have those sounds filed away in his brain forever.

Sam leans forward, rubs at the leather fastening Dean's amulet around his neck and Dean flinches like he's been burned. Sam's eyes are wide, doesn't drop his gaze, but he pulls his hand away, gets Dean ready, jeans open and boxers down and one hand around Dean's cock. Sam's really fucking good, too, he strokes Dean hard and fast and perfect, a tight fist on his cock and his thumb swiping the slick head.

Dean starts fucking his hips forward, slamming into Sam's fist. Sam groans, drops his head to Dean's neck, tongue working between skin and leather, tracing the line of the leather, open-mouthed kisses all the way down to the amulet itself. It makes Dean feel like he's on fire. Sam's gift, and having Sam touch it like this is too damn intimate, more intimate than sex, and Dean can't fucking handle it.

He comes embarrassingly fast and when Sam smirks, Dean wants to say things he shouldn't, just to wipe that grin right off his face.

He won't though. There are lots of things Sam doesn't need to know.

He doesn't need to know that there were times when he was away at college, that Dean lay awake at night; motel sheets covering him like a second skin. Legs splayed open and teeth slicing into his bottom lip. One hand on his cock and the other on the amulet, because touching it made Dean feel like he was touching Sam.

Sam doesn't need to know that it made Dean come harder than he ever has in his life, and that's no exaggeration either, even though Dean's had more than his fair share of mind-altering, spine-tinglingly good sex.

And Sam definitely doesn't need to know that right after he died; Dean sat there staring at his body for God knows how long, bourbon stinging the back of his throat, desperately wanting to rip the thing off his own neck, because it felt like a dead weight choking him, pulling him down.

But it doesn't feel like that anymore. Sam's alive, something Dean thanks that bitch for every single day. All those mornings when he wakes up and sees Sam sleeping in the other bed, snoring and stupid hair and all. And for now? For now, Sam's safe and when he tugs on the amulet, Dean can't help the strength of his reaction all over again.

Sometimes Dean feels like the thing around his neck, Sam's gift, is the only thing keeping him there. That it's the only thing that's grounding him, connecting him to Sam and keeping Dean from being dragged down to Hell.

He pulls Sam in; kisses him hard and fast and hopes that Sam understands all that, instinctively. Hopes he's really as smart as everyone gives him credit for, because Dean will never, ever tell him as long as he lives.

 

end


End file.
